


Ex Libris Peter Lukas

by veritashopian



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical The Beholding Content (The Magnus Archives), Canon-Typical The Lonely Content (The Magnus Archives), Lonely Eyes, M/M, Pre-Canon, Sad Ending, Spoilers through Season 4, au where og!elias and Peter fell in love, happy with sad ending, og!elias
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-16 15:34:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29209707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veritashopian/pseuds/veritashopian
Summary: The Lukas family has a long standing relationship with the Magnus Institute. They provide its leader with funding and- when necessary- access to certain valuable documents.Peter Lukas couldn’t care less about this arrangement, until it lands him with an unexpected houseguest: Elias Bouchard, the man in charge of saving Peter’s library.Surely Peter will survive working with the man for two weeks.Surely his heart will survive what comes after.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	Ex Libris Peter Lukas

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [No, The Other Captain](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28819164) by [toomanydice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/toomanydice/pseuds/toomanydice). 



It’s been months since Peter’s ridden in a car, and he begrudgingly admits that he’s missed it. The old family town car was crafted with privacy in mind over all else. The divider between himself and the driver, the tinted windows between himself and everyone else- the lack of a radio, even- were all fashioned with the intention of reducing interaction as much as possible, and he finds that it’s the only form of transportation aside from the _Tundra_ that succeeds in hiding him from the world through simple, mundane means. It still isn’t his favorite place to be, but it does make ghosting through life _so_ much easier. Something he’ll always be thankful for on trips like this.

The driver of the week pulls up to the curb and parks the car, and Peter’s good mood evaporates. He _hates_ being the family’s public face, but it comes with the responsibility he bears. So he steps out onto the sidewalk, taking a moment to steel himself in the shadow of the Magnus Institute. It will do little good. There’s nowhere to hide in a shrine to the Beholding, the weight of its gaze crawling on his skin, seeping _into_ him as it does its best to know him inside and out. 

… of course, to anyone else it’s just a squat beige building by the Thames. Nothing to be afraid of, and certainly nothing to keep him lingering on a busy sidewalk in the November wind. He sighs and shuts the car door behind him. The sooner he goes in, the sooner he can get out. 

Before he can take another step, his driver rolls his window down and pokes his head out, shutting off the ignition as he does. “Will this be a long meeting, Mr. Lukas? I can idle here or circle the block if you want.”

It was only a matter of time before this one got tired of being stonewalled and took a shot at being chatty. Pity. He’d been doing rather well.

Peter shakes his head, waves a hand over his shoulder, and walks up the institute steps without looking back. He does take a moment to straighten his tie. Another folly of doing business on land; people expect him to wear suits instead of the far more comfortable, practical clothes he wears at sea. Then he’s inside, and he feels a very specific set of eyes boring into the back of his neck. Not surprising; he does have an appointment, after all. 

The office of one James Wright is on the top level of the building, a route Peter is well familiar with. He heads for the lift rather than chance anyone passing him on the stairs. The institute is old, and while the lift is serviceable it is far from modern. Several employees have warned him off of using it on prior visits, fear in their eyes as they tell him of all the times it has shaken and sputtered and taken far longer to open its doors than it should. That’s fine with Peter. His distaste for feeling trapped aside, he sees very little wrong with having only himself for company in a confined space. The fact that others hardly use it is enough of a perk that he’s willing to take his chances. 

He presses the button to call the lift and lets his eyes wander lazily while he waits. It’s a cold, clinical kind of place that would be right up his alley if it belonged to any other entity. The decor is sparse and the floors are hardwood, making any sound echo on into oblivion. Corridors stretch out in either direction from the entryway, but it’s dark enough that he can’t see farther than a few meters either way. It’s appropriately spooky for the setting, he supposes. 

There’s also a woman sitting at the reception desk, but she neither noticed him come in nor sees him now. She might in a moment if the lift catches her attention, but only if she takes a long, hard look. And if she doesn’t, Wright will get a kick out of her perplexion when she sees the metal doors part for no one. He’s always liked things like that, says they support the institute’s reputation. 

Disappointingly, when the doors do creak open they reveal a man stepping out. Peter doesn’t pay him any real mind, other than to back out of his way in an attempt to avoid being bowled over with the huge stack of books in his arms. 

“Need any help with those, Elias?” the woman at the desk asks, equal parts concerned and amused. 

“All good here, thanks! Just returning these to the library.” The man catches sight of Peter as he passes and does a double take. “I… Hey, sorry. Didn’t see you there.”

Peter grimaces. This is the part he was dreading, where he gets peppered with inane questions from strangers. It’s always the same old stuff, asking if he needs help and who he’s there to see and “how did you get in here? The door was locked!”

To his surprise however, the other man just keeps walking, his business clearly forefront in his list of priorities if the way he practically sprints away is any indicator. Well, that’s good. Peter can respect a necessary politeness as long as it isn’t wrapped in layers of pointless conversation. He slips into the lift before the receptionist can break his lucky streak. He could simply deal with her, but he’s been warned repeatedly about poaching institute staff. 

The lift has a scissor gate, a rusty thing that makes entirely too much noise for how glacial its movements are. But it does shut eventually, and for the moment Peter has an illusion of blessed privacy to cling to. An illusion, yes, but a comfort all the same. He’ll take whatever he can before baring himself to the piercing gaze of the Eye’s pupil. 

He shudders to a halt on the top floor and waits another twenty seconds for the scissor gate to reopen. The top floor is a world of difference from the ground level, all rich emerald carpeting and gold gilt picture frames. He’d wager his whistle that this floor hasn’t changed a bit from the day of the institute’s founding, aside from one minor detail: the name on the placard by the office door. 

“Come in,” a gruff voice calls from inside before Peter even thinks about knocking. He grumbles and pushes open the door to find the man who calls himself James Wright seated at a large wooden desk, scribbling furiously across a set of forms with an obnoxiously expensive fountain pen. His sharp eyes flit up to Peter, more a reflex than an acknowledgment since they both know he’s been watching Peter since he arrived. “Good afternoon, Mr. Lukas. Take a seat, won’t you?”

“I find that people take sitting as an invitation to talk longer,” Peter replies. His voice comes out hoarse from disuse and he realizes that these are the first words he’s spoken in hours, perhaps even in a full day. God, he misses his boat. He only has so much cordiality in him at any given time, and he finds that this man takes far more than his fair share of Peter’s stores. 

“Always cutting right to the chase. How very like a Lukas.” Wright laughs unsettlingly and stands up as well. He’s tall. Not as tall as Peter, mind, but there’s been a noticeable trend in the men who have headed the Magnus Institute since its founding. “Well, I don’t plan to keep you in suspense. I need a bit of a favor from the ever-generous Lukas family.”

“Funding issues do not require in-person conversations.”

“Very true. However, this is not a funding issue but rather an issue of, shall we say, real estate.” Wright pulls a large sheet of thin paper onto his desk. “This is the floor plan of the Lukas family’s summer home in Hastings.”

Peter’s eyes narrow. He hasn’t visited in years, but he knows that layout. It’s the house he spent his summers in as a child, and he doesn’t have many fond memories of it. He keeps a steady rotation of cleaners and gardeners moving through, but it’s more for his patron than for the sake of the home itself. Things get terribly quiet in big, empty houses. 

That’s a pertinent thought, actually. The house should have been completely empty for months now, which begs the question:

“And you have these plans _how_?”

Wright grins. “Did you never try to copy or trace over pictures as a child? It’s not as if I didn’t have a good view of the source material, and I am something of an architecture enthusiast. It was an afternoon’s work, nothing more.”

Peter makes a mental note to store any and all personal documents he owns in the darkest place he can, purely out of spite. “Alright, then. What do you need with the property? It’s been vacant for decades now.” 

“So it has, which is why this section of the house,” Wright points to the east wing library. “Is falling into a terrible state of disrepair. I don’t think you realize what a wealth of information you’re letting rot away, not to mention the artifacts contained among the books.”

“I’m perfectly aware that _some_ people may value them,” Peter says pointedly. “I just wouldn’t count myself among them. And another thing-“

“If you’re wondering why your housekeepers haven’t informed you of this situation, you’ll be ever so surprised to find out that the phone calls and emails you’ve been ignoring while at sea were somewhat important. I would have handled it myself if I were allowed, but alas.”

The disgruntled words wash over Peter’s back. There’s no use arguing with the truth; he was absolutely avoiding all contact. “So that’s it, you want access to my library?”

Wright is already shaking his head before he finishes the sentence. “I was being literal about the rot, Mr. Lukas. I don’t just want _access_ to it, I want to _save_ it. That building is old, and isn’t equipped to regulate humidity, temperature, or light in the ways necessary to keep your collection intact. In fact, I’d say that a further month of inaction could very well lose you the lot. If I had to hazard a guess I’d say that the salty sea air you’re so very fond of is the culprit.” 

His eyes go far away for a moment, flashing bright green, and he adds with a simper, “Surely you’d want to preserve the refuge of your youth? It was dark and quiet there and no one would think to look for _you_ among the books, as distasteful as you found them. All those hours of blessed quiet, knowing that just a stone’s throw away, Aaron and Judith were out frolicking on Hastings Pier like the dullards they were. Reveling in the relief you felt that you had no part in that foolishness whatsoever.”

“Stop that,” Peter growls, civility stripped away in an instant. The Watcher’s gaze _burns_ upon him, pinning him up like a moth on display _._ “You can have my money, you can have my cooperation, and on a good day you can have my presence in your little menagerie of ghost stories. But you do _not_ have the go-ahead to rifle through my brain, Jonah.”

“ _James_ ,” the other man hisses with equal venom. His stare turns hard and penetrating. “If you insist on getting intimate and using first names, darling, at least call me by the one I give you.”

“Oh I’m sorry, did you find that rude? A thousand apologies Mr. Wright, I’ll take that into account the next time you decide to take a stroll down my memory’s lane without my permission.” 

“Lukas, you will watch your tone. You and I both know how little power you hold here.”

Peter snarls and draws the mists of the Lonely around him tighter, a protective weave to both shield and support him. It’s a pretty hollow bluff, but it’s all he has. At the very least, the inferno of the Eye’s gaze fades to a prickling warmth under its protection. That will have to be enough. 

Wright scowls and sits back down. Finally tired of their back and forth, he pulls out a stack of papers from a drawer and pushes them across the desk for Peter to peruse. “There. You’ll find instructions for the necessary renovations, as well as estimated costs and the materials I’ll require from your collection. And it may be presumptuous to include, but there is also a donor’s form at the back if you feel so inclined.”

Peter takes the papers and sifts through them, anger softening into befuddlement. “Just so I’m clear: you want me to use my own funds to renovate a library I don’t care about, give you unrestricted access to the texts and artifacts contained therein, _and_ contribute even more donations to your institute than I already have, all thirty seconds after being threatened? This doesn’t seem like a very fair deal, Wright.”

“I never claimed it was, although I’m sure you do get something out of throwing all of that cold, heartless money around,” Wright says smugly, folding his hands beneath his chin and leering up at Peter. “The Beholding is loath to see valuable knowledge in decay, and I am in a position to prevent it. Like I said, it’s a favor. One I’m sure I’ll have the chance to repay in time. I can even start now; shall I call up a replacement for Jeremy?”

Peter is only half paying attention, skimming through the rest of the papers to make sure Wright isn’t pulling anything funny. “Who?” 

“Why, the driver you tossed into the Lonely of course. Weren’t you concerned about how you would get back home?”

“Funny enough, I _do_ know how to drive a car,” Peter quips. He doesn’t actually want to bother with driving himself though, and he doesn’t see anything wrong with the rest of Wright’s requests. (Except the additional donation. He sets that form aside.) He sighs and holds out his hand. “Have you got a spare pen? A proper one, not that ridiculous mess you use.”

“Of course.” Wright hands over a regular ballpoint pen and watches eagerly as Peter begins to sign. Peter vaguely hears him press the button on his intercom and mutter some instructions to his secretary before giving a contented hum. “I knew we could settle this like gentlemen. Ah, but forgive me! There _was_ one other factor that I forgot to go over with you.” 

He then picks up the donor’s form from where Peter discarded it and peels a second, thinner piece of paper away from the back. Peter’s completed signature stares at him in harsh relief. He groans, regret already settling as a hard lump in his stomach because he knows without having to look that the added page will fit in seamlessly with what he just signed. “Damn you. What did I just agree to?”

“It’s nothing too imposing, I assure you. But I _will_ need one of my staff to oversee the renovations. And I’d hate to have to send someone nearly two hours both ways every day just for this project, and hotel accommodations can be _so_ expensive-“

Peter recoils. “You’re giving me a _house guest?_ ”

“I believe the preferred term is ‘on-site contractor,’ but I won’t split hairs.”

“You know I can just pay someone to do that, right?” Peter asks, fighting to keep the panic out of his voice. “The best library renovating expert money can buy. Or I can pay to put your man in a hotel. I don’t even have to be on site for it. I _can’t,_ I have a ship to get back to.”

Wide eyes flash, grey-green and wicked. “Not for the next two weeks, you don’t. These items are far too valuable to be left in the hands of the uninformed, so you _will_ be in charge of overseeing this project. And do be hospitable to my employee, Mr. Lukas. I trust I don’t need to remind you that there are plenty of people _off_ my payroll for you to feed to your god. Speaking of, your driver will be waiting in the car. His name is… unimportant, I suppose, and certainly of no interest to you. I trust you’ll keep me updated, as per our agreement. Good afternoon.”

Peter bristles at being dismissed, but he knows he doesn’t have a choice. Contracts with Jonah Magnus are airtight and binding. Might as well bear with it for the time being, since he doesn’t care one way or the other what happens to that old library. He still takes a moment of indulgence to finally flip the man off and slam the door on his way out. 

Without really meaning to, he makes it to a side door using less than corporeal means. He’s more mist than man by the time he makes it outside. At first he thinks he may have summoned so much as to be visible to others, but then he smells a harsh, chemical odor and realizes he’s walked right through someone’s smoke break. The grey haired woman propped against the side door frowns at the disturbance in the swirls of smoke but doesn’t say anything or lock eyes on him, so Peter must be well and truly invisible. Content that he is as he was meant to be, he walks on. 

As promised, a young man sits expectantly in the driver's seat with the engine running. He doesn’t speak or even look at Peter, merely activates his turn signal as soon as the door closes and pulls off into traffic. It’s over an hour back to Moorland House, and then another half hour to Hastings. He’ll pack a bag and arrive at the vacation home in time for tea. Tomorrow the renovations- as well as the greatest test of Peter’s patience to date- will begin. 

**Author's Note:**

> Here we go lads, I’m going to attempt an angst! At the very least, we can pretend that some good things happened to these guys before their archives got Magnus’d. This is mainly based off of Sydney Toomanydice’s wonderful takes on og!LonelyEyes, which made me feel so much that I had to get it down in writing. No promises on any consistent updates (especially with the finale incoming) but at the very least we all know how this one ends 🙃


End file.
